


Running Comms

by doktor_mandrake



Category: Deus Ex (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2018-10-05 18:39:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 7,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10314494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doktor_mandrake/pseuds/doktor_mandrake
Summary: Jensen and Pritchard love irritating each other. A selection of dribbles that wouldn't leave my head.





	1. Bored.

"Surveillance hour six. Still nothing to report."

Jensen was bored. And grumpy. The stakeout was clearly a complete waste of time, but Sarif was insistent that his intel was solid and he paid his wages.

"Francis?"

Silence. 

He continued doodling, adding shadows to various three dimensional 'Z's he’d scribbled in his notebook. God he was bored. 

"Come on Pritchard"

The infolink cracked

"D3."

Tracing his finger along the scrappily-drawn grid, Adam sighed. Goddammit.

"You sunk my battleship."

Pritchard chuckled. Smug bastard.

 

…  
Aeons later  
...

 

"Jensen, the boss says to give it another couple of hours"

Adam grunted acknowledgement, and continued doodling, sketching a fairly serviceable T-Rex perched atop one of the larger Zs. When the drizzle started he pocketed his notebook, pulled up the hood on his jacket (having forgone his usual coat in the interests of blending in) and sat playing with his pen. Click click click twiddle click twiddle click. He'd been rather skilled at the old ' roll a pen around your fingers' thing in a previous life, but his new hands didn't seem to have got the memo. After dropping the pen for the fifth time, he gave up.

"Pritchard?"

"I swear Jensen, if you're calling to complain about being bored again I will come round there and set fire to you. "

 

...  
Approaching The End Of Recorded Time  
...

 

"Pritchard... do you think Wilma Flintstone is attractive?"

"Are you so bored that you're fantasizing about cartoon women?"

"Just answer the question Frank"

There was a long pause

"I can say without a shadow of a doubt that Wilma Flintstone is one of the most attractive women on the planet."

Jensen cracked a smirk at that one. Idly making patterns on the wet concrete next to where he sat, he pondered further. "What about Betty?"

"Betty Rubble?" He could almost hear the cogs turning in Pritchard's head. "Well, I mean, I would go with Betty..." a wistful sigh came through the infolink "but I'd be thinking of Wilma.”

Can't argue with that.

“And much as I hate to end this profound discussion, boss says to pack your shit and get back here”.

Thank fuck. Adam prised himself off the step and reached for his bag.

"You know Pritch, it’s all hypothetical..." he hefted the pack on to his shoulder with a grunt.

"She'd never leave Fred and we know it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All due apologies to Red Dwarf.


	2. Vitals.

"I can get you in, I just need to create a profile so you're in the database …. hang on a second… make you a 'Smith' and … oh good grief, it wants all your vitals. Age?"

"Don't you have all that info on the system?"

"Would I be asking if I did? I'm out of the office, I'm doing this on my tablet so just tell me the answers…"

Pritchard had a life? Who knew.

"36"

"Hmm, I'll put forty, we're going for 'believable' here"

Git. Hypocritical git.

"How tall are you Jensen?"

"Six two"

"In your socks?"

"Yes Francis"

"With a proper haircut?"

"You're such a dick.."


	3. Mind games

Pritchard flopped theatrically into the cafeteria chair opposite him.

"I can't believe you told Malik". 

Shit. Rumbled.

"Shmorfurme" Jensen mumbled, a mouth full of burger. Pritchard looked pissed. He swallowed.

"She tortured me," he tried to look apologetic. "She pulled my ears."

Frank scowled and wielded a teaspoon aggressively.

"That doe eyes thing doesn't work on me Jensen, I'm immune."

"What? I don't…"

"Yes you do. Soon as you know you're caught you pull a face like a kicked puppy, I see you do it every time someone catches your kleptomaniac ass in their office. Sad face followed by a brutal charm offensive, next thing they're apologising to you for no reason and you're out the door guilt-free."

Adam casually dipped a fry in ketchup and popped it in his mouth.

"What can I say, you use the tools at your disposal. I can't help being naturally charming." He gave Pritchard a wink. "Want a fry?"

"No, I want you to explain yourself". He took a fry anyway.

"Like I said, torture. I held out as long as I could but that woman is brutal." He wiped up the last of the ketchup with the remains of his burger and waved it at Frank. "She already knew, I just confirmed it."

"But how? Apart from you the only other person that's seen it is… oh for god's sake, of course… sorry Jensen"

Pritchard rose abruptly and stalked off in the direction of the helipad.

Adam pushed his plate aside and leaned back smugly in his chair, catching his reflection in the napkin dispenser.

Guilt-free, baby.


	4. POWER!!!!!

"How long are you gonna be?"

Pritchard grunted in his vague direction, engrossed in what was on the screen.

Adam took off his coat and looked around for somewhere to hang it. The tech lab made his apartment look tidy. And why was it always so hot?

Dropping onto the grotty little sofa to wait for Frank to finish, he rifled through the various tech magazines on the coffee table. Finding a copy of Autotrader amongst the computer mags he sank into the sofa, put his feet up on the table (just to irritate Pritchard) and started thumbing through the adverts. Megan had kept their car when they split, he hadn't really felt a need to replace it, living so close to work. No harm in window shopping, though.

He kept flicking through, past the econo-boxes and uninspiring sensible family vehicles, past cheap clunkers and overpriced rep-mobiles.

"Cars are boring. Get a bike. Nothing beats the thrill of the open road, the wind in your helmet…"

Pritchard had looked up from his work and was regarding Jensen from the other side of the room.

"You know what we used to call bikers when I was with DPD? Organ donors." An odd expression drifted across his face. "Lost count of the number of bike accidents I attended. It's… it's not for me." He flicked through a few more pages. "Now this…"

He held the magazine up so Frank could see.

"Nice."

"1998 Dodge Viper. 8 litre V10, 450 horsepower. A classic muscle car built right here in Motor City." Adam pored over the specs. It was a stupid idea, but a tempting one.

"30 year old car with a gas engine. What could possibly go wrong?"

"I had a poster of one on my wall when I was little." Jensen continued staring at the advert. "Black with white stripes, just like this."

There was the sound of typing in the background as Pritchard hit up YouTube. "Here we go"

Adam prised himself off the sofa and stood behind Frank, watching the old low-res clip of Jeremy Clarkson shouting 'POWER!!' and drifting around an abandoned airfield in an immense cloud of smoke. As one clip ended, he pointed at the next and the next…

Clicking on the final video in the search, Pritchard leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. "Looks like quite a handful Jensen, bet it wouldn't last two weeks before you wrapped it around a light pole"

Adam snorted. "Says the man who broke both his wrists last year falling off his motorbike". 

"It was the year before last and I was knocked off my motorbike by an idiot in a van. Big difference."

"So you claimed. Anyway, I'm a good driver. Did loads of courses when I was a cop." Jensen turned and perched on edge of the desk to face Pritchard. "Level two police pursuit - I've got a certificate and everything!"

Frank chuckled. "You got somewhere to keep it?"

"There's parking round the back of the Chiron Building, the neighbours have been using my space."

"Have you got the money?"

"It would be do-able… kind of… no, this is dumb, you're supposed to talk me out of stupid decisions not into them, that's what you're always banging on about"

Pritchard pushed his chair back and crossed the room to pick up the magazine from the sofa. 

"At the risk of ruining my carefully-cultivated image and actually being kind to your deeply annoying self…" he studied the advert, to avoid eye contact "…you deserve something nice. After all the shit you've been through So why not treat yourself?" He pulled his phone out of his pocket dialled the number on the advert and looked questioningly at Jensen, thumb hovering over the send button. "Are we going to look at this car or what?"

Adam cracked the ghost of a smile and nodded. 

...

"…Thank you sir, we'll see you in about half an hour. Goodbye". Pocketing his phone, Frank picked the black trenchcoat off the sofa and held it open expectantly.

"You know what you are Frank?" Adam slid into the coat, like a small child being dressed by his mother. "You're an enabler."

 

\----------  
Two weeks and one day later.  
\-----------

 

His infolink would work much better, but it wouldn't capture the glorious V10 snarl or almost deafening wind noise in the background. No, this needed the phone. 

"Pritchard here."

"YOU OWE ME FIFTY"

"What, Jensen I can hardly hear you.."

"I SAID YOU OWE ME FIFTY. IT'S BEEN TWO WEEKS, THE VIPER IS STILL CAR-SHAPED, I REMAIN UNHOSPITALISED, NO LIGHT POLES HAVE BEEN BENT - YOU OWE ME FIFTY BUCKS"

"You're insufferable"

"SORRY, I CAN'T HEAR YOU OVER THE SOUND OF ME BEING AWESOME AT DRIVING"

*click*


	5. Slippery When Wet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some time later...

He didn't really mind riding in the rain that much. Sure it meant slippery white lines, treacherous ironworks and drivers somehow paying even less attention than usual, but he relished the challenge in some perverse way.

Traffic was starting to bunch up and he cursed inside his helmet as a sea of brake lights filled his vision, reflecting crazily in the raindrops on his visor.

Dammit. Everything had ground to a halt. No doubt some genius trying to break the land speed record despite the soaking wet conditions. Now he was going to be late.

He merged smoothly between the lanes of stationary traffic, weaving his way between the cars and giving the painted dividing lines as wide a berth as possible. As he got near the front of the queue he could see the flashing lights of a cop car…

… a police officer putting out cones …

… a recovery truck …

… a man in a high-viz jacket sweeping the tarmac …

… a tall man in a dark trenchcoat.

Oh he didn't.

Frank pulled up at the front of the queue and wiped the rain off his visor. The man was standing with his back to him, deep in conversation with a second police officer. The cop's body language said he'd seen it all before. The driver was more animated, gesticulating descriptively with one hand while the other gripped the side of his neck. The cop made notes. The man pointed. The cop nodded, handed him a piece of paper and went to talk to the recovery driver. The man visibly sagged.

 

"Jensen?"

He could almost hear the eye roll. The man turned, still holding his neck. 

"Pritchard." 

From where he now stood, Frank could see past the recovery truck. Oh dear.

"Is that your car?" 

Jensen sighed. The gloating… the gloating was going to be relentless. And the smugness. Unbearable. A really shitty day had just become exponentially shiittier. He was never going to live this down.

He glowered at Pritchard, not dignifying him with an answer.

"It's the wrong way up."


	6. Memento

Adam burst through the door, slamming his hand against the master light switch. The tech lab flicked from muted mood lighting to uncompromising brightness.

"Good morning Francis," he proclaimed, rather louder than necessary.

Frank buried his face in his hands, trying to block out both the light and the sound.

"And how are we feeling on this beautiful day?"

A slight whimper from behind the computer. Adam marched round to the desk, and gave the hacker a hearty pat on the back. He had his forearms on the table and his head resting on top. 

"I really enjoyed the party last night. Y'know, with all we drank I thought I might be a little bit hungover but really, I feel just great today. Full of beans. Raring to go. Actually I've never felt better."

He gripped Frank's shoulders and gave him a shake. Oh he was enjoying this.

"So how's my favourite techno whizzkid doing? Ready to unleash cyber-hell on your foes or whatever it is you actually do all day?" He poked around on Pritchard's desk, less out of curiosity and more because he knew how much it irritated him. 

The collapsed mass of human gave a groan.

"Kill me."

"What was that Francis, you're very quiet. You should speak louder, LIKE ME"

"Shoot me. In the head. Just make it stop."

Jensen chuckled and started giving him a shoulder rub, one designed to be more annoying than relaxing. 

"Can't help you there Francis. See, the thing about getting shot in the head is that it really doesn't cure a headache. Quite the opposite, actually." 

Grunt.

"Aaaanyway, I didn't drop by just to be friendly, there's some serious security business to attend to. Damage to company property, abuse of resources… between you and me it's an HR shitshow just waiting to happen."

Jensen stepped back and rummaged in his pocket, producing a small notebook. Frank turned his head slightly and cracked open an eye. Making a show of leafing through his notes, Jensen cleared his throat.

"The witness reports seeing a white male, late 30s, slim build, silly ponytail, entering the copy room at approximately 2:45am. The primary suspect is described as being, and I quote, 'severely inebriated'. Around 30 minutes later, the suspect is seen being carried from the copy room by a second white male…" Jensen peered at his notebook closely, "Mid 30s, tall, handsome, great hair. Curiously, nobody saw the second man enter the copy room but hey, when are witnesses completely reliable?"

"I hate you so much"

"This morning, at approximately 8:30am, a junior member of staff entered the copy room and noticed the box scanner lid was severely damaged, almost as if something heavy had been placed on top of it. Then upon opening the 3D printer, she found…" he studied his notebook again, quietly wishing he could actually peer over his shades to really rub the point home, "…a neon green plastic representation of the male genitalia."

It didn't seem possible for Pritchard to slump any further, but somehow he managed it.

"Where is it?" he mumbled.

Jensen snapped his notebook shut and perched on the edge of the desk.

"Luckily for you, she called me first and not human resources. It's in my office."

He ruffled Frank's hair.

"Francis, every time I look at that little prick on my shelf, I'll think of you."


	7. Basement level 3

It was then that his eyes fell on it - a large cardboard box criss-crossed with police evidence tape. 

He knew he shouldn't open it.

He knew he was going to.

Sitting cross-legged on the dusty floor, he pulled the box toward him and peeled away the tape. Taking a deep breath, he opened the cardboard flaps and looked inside.

Everything was in plastic bags, carefully sealed and labelled.

His old infolink. Blood stained.

His old security pass. Blood stained. Though it was issued only around 18 months ago, he looked so much younger in the photograph.

Keys. That uncaring prick of a landlord had changed the locks anyway.

The next bag was big, heavy. His leather jacket was tightly folded inside. Nope, not going there. He set it aside and looked into the box again.

Fuck.

A Diamondback .357

*His* Diamondback .357

He felt sick. But he couldn't stop himself.

The last time he'd seen that gun, it was aimed at him. He remembered staring down the barrel for what seemed like an eternity.

He reached into the box and picked it up. It felt so heavy. 

With shaky hands he ripped open the plastic bag. 

A smaller bag dropped into his lap. Bullets, only five though.

Of course, the other one had been surgically removed from his brain. Removed along with around half of him.

He tossed the torn plastic aside and held the gun in his hands. It had been a present, from her. How ironic.

Possessed by a sudden calm, he checked the chamber was empty and aimed at the wall. Finger on the trigger, left hand supporting the right. Held it there, breathing calmly. 

*Click*

Click click click click click click click click he kept firing imaginary bullets at ghosts that were far too real.

\-----

"I've been through everything on level two, it's not…"

Pritchard froze, greeted by the sight of Jensen sitting on the floor with his head in his hands. Sobbing.

Oh shit.

Alright Frank, this is way outside your comfort zone but you've gotta deal.

He quietly sat down beside him and rubbed a comforting hand up and down his spine. He noted the box, the bags and the gun in Jensen's lap. 

"Hey Adam," he kept rubbing, "I'm just going to move this, okay?" 

" 'snot loaded" 

"Good, but I'd still feel better with it out of the way…. Okay that's better. Do you want to talk?"

A slight shake of the head.

"Alright, that's good cos I'm useless at all that human interaction stuff. Makes me uncomfortable, you know? I can't wait til we can just live in VR, things will be so much less complicated."

Jensen seemed to be calming down, so he continued rambling and rubbing.

"But we're a good team, you and me, yeah? You're good at all that people stuff. And I know we fight all the time but that's only cos we're both stubborn assholes who are always right. I mean, I'm right a lot more than you are, of course, but you have your moments. Occasionally."

He stopped rubbing Jensen's back and put his arm around his shoulders instead. Adam leaned in and relaxed slightly, but remained transfixed by the floor.

"And you're so easy to wind up, I mean sooo easy. I just can't help myself. But… and don't you dare tell anyone this cos you'll ruin my image.. I worry about you. There, you made me say it you bastard. I worry cos everyone thinks you're indestructible, and you let them believe that… but you're not. And that's okay. You've got to cut yourself some slack, take some time, look after yourself instead of worrying about everyone else. Go lie on a beach for a fortnight and bang some bikini babes."

Jensen sniffed, and held out his hand. "See all these nooks and crannies? Imagine how long I'd spend getting sand out of them."

"Alright forget the beach, go live out your Alaskan wilderness fantasy, get yourself a lumberjack shirt and wrestle some bears or whatever it is they do on those awful programmes you watch. I can just see you with a big bushy beard and a belly, living in some shack in the wilds with a pet wolf."

"Would you visit?"

"Depends. Does your shack have internet?" 

"It has a stove and a rocking chair."

"I'll have to think about it."

They sat in companionable silence for a while, both lost in their individual thoughts.

"Thanks, Francis. For, y'know…"

"It's all good." Frank prised himself off the floor and offered Jensen a hand. "Come on idiot, there's work to do."


	8. Raising the stakes

It had all started so innocently. '5 credits says you can't make the throw', '50 credits, no, 100 credits you can't keep your desk clear til the end of the month'… that kind of thing. No big deal, just a way of breaking up the monotony of the working day and the winnings usually went on donuts or take out to share so no real harm was done.

Recently though, the stakes had been getting higher. An independent adjudicator had been nominated (Malik) and a complex scoring system put in place in order to ensure no foul play.

As loser of the previous round, it was up to Jensen to choose the stake for the next. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, the unfamiliar bare skin serving only to remind him of just how fucking good Francis Pritchard was at Call Of Duty XI. He had to come up with something good…

…….

 

Two weeks later, Malik dropped by as they ate lunch.

"Boys, the results are in and I'm calling this one a draw"

"Oh come on, you can't do that!" Adam protested

"I certainly can, you put me in charge and I'm calling it how I see it." She put a hand on Frank's shoulder and the other on Adam's. "You're both going to look absolutely lovely. My place, 6pm tomorrow. Bring booze."

 

……….

 

"For you, Frank, a little something from my wardrobe." Malik held up a slinky red number. "It'll be short on you but otherwise I think it'll fit".

She turned her attention to Adam. "Now you were a little more problematic…"

"I don't have Francis' girlish physique?"

He could feel the scowl, he didn't need to see it. 

"Indeed. But I have connections, I made a few calls and…" She produced a dark purple halter neck with a flourish. "This is for you."

 

……….

 

Frank Pritchard looked and felt fantastic. The slinky red dress was almost indecently short, but he had great legs and they were enhanced by the 4 inch heels Malik had borrowed from her drag queen friend. She'd done his hair up, a little bit of makeup, a few choice accessories… truth be told he made a pretty convincing woman. A rather tall one who ruined the illusion the moment he tried to walk in those ridiculous shoes but standing still he was gorgeous and he goddamn knew it.

Adam Jensen looked like a bloke in a dress. The purple velvet clung in all the right places but even the addition of a satin wrap couldn't detract from the width of his shoulders and those muscular augmented arms. Shoes had been problematic and the only thing that would fit was a pair of silver ankle boots. 

"At least you haven't grown your beard back yet" Malik mused, fussing with the long black wig she was trying to make look half-way realistic.

"He's got to wait til the end of the month," interjected Pritchard. "Another 6 days of looking like an angry potato".

Jensen glared at him and raised his middle finger, unable to speak while Faridah had his jaw tilted up considering how to do his makeup.

"Cheekbones, I can work with." She moved his head to the side. "But jawline, not so much."

"Do we really have to go out like this? I get enough people giving me hassle when I'm dressed normally." Jensen enquired, somewhat glumly. Yes, it had been his idea but he'd been confident that only Pritchard would have to dress up. And his suspicion that Francis would rather enjoy the whole thing had so far proved correct, with the tech embracing the whole process with glee.

"Are you forfeiting?"

"No…"

Malik finished with the blusher had Adam stand so she could admire her handiwork. Being honest with herself, he looked ridiculous. There was just no disguising his masculine features, and while she'd never say it out loud, it was obvious why he usually wore a beard. It was quite a chin he'd had hidden under there.

"I tell you what boys, I'll take some photos of you two looking pretty and then the bet is complete. Much as I'd love to go out on the town I think we all know it's not such a great idea." She rubbed Adam's arm a little. "Too many assholes out there."

"But where's the challenge if we don't go out in public?" Frank whined.

"That's crossing the line Pritch. This is meant to be fun and while his ass looks utterly spectacular in that dress, if Adam goes out looking like that you know what people are going to be like." 

"That's not my problem, he's the one who set the stake, he should follow through on it."

Jensen ignored them and craned his neck trying to see his ass in the mirror. Malik continued.

"Don't be a moron. He's going to get harassed and probably attacked. Best case scenario is he has a miserable night with people calling him names, worst case people are going to get hurt. Is that what you want Frank? Honestly, this whole bet thing is starting to get silly. The beard thing was bad enough, what's next? Winner gets to name the loser's first born child? Loser gets the winner's name tattooed on their forehead? Winner gets.. Oh no"

Pritchard's eyes had lit up and he snapped his fingers interrupting her. "Yes! Like it… not the forehead but…"

"No Frank! Adam come on, you're smarter than this…"

"Oh he really isn't."

"I'm really not. " Adam had started paying attention again and grinned wolfishly. "I bet you can't go a month without caffeine. No coffee, no pills, no energy drinks."

"Hah, piece of cake. Bet you can't go a month without booze or cigarettes."

Jensen conjured up as much menace as is possible when you're wearing a purple velvet dress, silver ankle boots and far too much makeup, got nose-to-nose with Pritchard and growled.

"Bring. It. On."

 

\---------

 

"I like this one, the heart, it's very cute."

"Fine."

"Ooh no, maybe this one with the rose, it's more 'me'"

"Prickly? Just choose will you…"

"Okay, heart it is." 

 

5 minutes later the artist called them into the back. 

 

"Do you want me to hold your hand?"

"This isn't my first time…"

 

The artist applied the stencil then asked for a last check of the spelling.

"A - D - A - M. That's right. Glad I've got a short name, huh Francis?"

Frank just shook his head and then buried it in his arms as the artist got to work. 

 

\------

 

While Faridah was relieved that their little wager-war had come to an end, she did almost pee herself laughing when Frank bared his skinny ass to show her his new tattoo.   
Idiots.


	9. Crocodile Detroit

"Remind me why you dragged me out here?" Jensen exited the taxi and unconsciously checked his pistol was still safely in its holster.

Pritchard paid the cab driver, who seemed keen to get the hell out of Dodge before he lost his hubcaps. "Because my contact is a rather shady character and I've no desire to be beaten up and left to die in a gutter. Just keep your mouth shut and look menacing. You're good at that."

"So I'm told."

It was one of the worse areas of Detroit, which was really saying something these days. As they approached the meeting point they were met by a weaselly little man flanked by two heavies. As Frank approached, the goons glowered at Jensen. He responded in kind, squaring his shoulders, folding his arms and giving what Malik had dubbed his 'Bad Idea Boys' glare. 

It seemed to do the trick, Pritchard and the Weasel furtively exchanging cash in one direction and a hard drive in the other. Man, if Officer Jensen of Detroit's finest could see him now…

Dubious deal concluded, the pair set off back towards civilisation. Frank attempted to call a cab but nobody was willing to pick up from that part of town, so they were stuck with walking, at least until they got to an area where the streetlights actually worked.

"Tell me Francis, are all your friends grimy former convicts?"

"Mmm, cos your contact list is just chock-full of virtuous individuals"

"Yeah, yeah. But really, that guy had 'prison' written all over him. You want to be careful, I doubt the boss would get you out of the big house a second time."

"Oh thank you for your insight Mister Policeman, I really hadn't considered any…"

They were rudely interrupted by a scruffy man, stepping out from his hiding place in a dark doorway. 

"Gimme your money!"

Jensen sighed. The young man was shaking like a junkie in need of a fix and looked like a stiff breeze would blow him over. Nothing about his appearance said 'threat', hell even Pritchard could probably take him.

"I said gimme your money! Look, I - I've got a knife." 

Oh yes. 

"Sorry kiddo, but that's not a knife…" Jensen drew his arm back, letting the nanoblade deploy. "THIS is a knife." 

The would-be mugger's eyes were the size of saucers, and he backed away from the pair. Adam stepped forward to fill the gap.

"Now beat it, before I do something you'll regret."

The kid booked it up the street, as if being chased by the devil himself. Pritchard shook his head slowly, partly in disapproval, partly in amusement.

"You've been waiting to use that line since the day you got those things, haven't you?"

Adam smirked and retracted the blade.

"Damn right."


	10. Patch Notes

Frank Pritchard wandered into the security chief's office and plonked himself down on the sofa. Adam looked up from his computer, perpetual frown firmly in place.

"Make yourself at home Francis."

"I will, thanks. Malik and I are headed to O'Malley's later, you want to come? All work and no play makes Jensen a dull boy. "

Adam sighed, sat back from his desk and swivelled slowly in his office chair.

"For a bit, I suppose. " Frank gave him a questioning look. "Being the only sober person in the place isn't that much fun."

"Did you not read the patch notes for Wednesday's update?"

"Errr, what?"

"Christ Jensen, do you just press 'OK' on any box that pops up in your HUD?"

"I…"

"Do you want to get a virus? Cos that's how you get a virus. And I'll be the one who has to reformat your wet drive while you're crippled. And blind. And probably drooling.."

"Alright Francis, you've made your point! It was a Sarif update, not something from one of your weird websites. What am I looking for?"

"Number 23."

Adam snapped his shades shut and a little involuntary head tilt indicated he was reading something on his HUD.

22: Fixed wayfinder bug which caused inaccurate height information to be displayed when close to waypoint  
23: Added user bypass option for Sentinal RX (where fitted)  
24: Updated display icons for…

The shades snapped open again and he met Frank's gaze with a grin.

"You're back in the drinking game my friend. And I cannot wait to observe the carnage."

***

They were only on their second drinks when Malik joined them, bringing a round of tequila with her. She took a seat next to Jensen, who was cradling his whiskey glass and looking remarkably content.

"You okay Adam? You're all flushed." 

He nodded, appearing to give the question deep consideration. "It'sh not like I'm an alcoholic or anything, but god I mished this." 

Anticipating the obvious, Pritchard leant over and whispered "Sentinel override. Should be fun." in Malik's ear. 

"Frank, you asshole." Faridah admonished. "And whiskey too, for god's sake he's slurring his words already"

Adam was feeling magnificently fuzzy and was only half paying attention to the conversation next to him. 

"I'm not schlurring." He waggled a finger in the air. "I'm perfectly capable of holding my drinksh, thank you very much Mish Malik"

Whiskey gone, he reached for one of the tequilas. 

"A toasht! " He put his other arm around Malik. "To Freeda, the besht wingma, wingwoman in the whole world..and by far the besht looking pilot at Sharif Indushties" 

They clinked glasses and downed their tequilas. Adam leant in, conspiratorially. "Though that new guy Greg, he'sh pretty hot. Y'know, for a guy. Yoooooo…" he circled his finger in the air, intending to poke Malik on the nose, but missed and poked her in the forehead instead. "Yoooou should ashk him out Freeda."

"I…"

"Sheee I don't know how you're still shingle. You're fun and hot and… you're always really schweet to me…" His gaze got less focused as the tequila really started to kick in. "Why hashn't some sheckshy man schwept you off your feet?"

"You tell me, Adam."

He dropped his head, studied his hands and looked to be about to say something deep when Pritchard butted in.

"Well this is awkward. Who wants another drink?"

"Worried I'm going to steal your boyfriend away from you?"

"He's not my.. Oh shut up, I'm going to the bar!"

"Itsh cos I'm a mesh. Wouldn't wish me on anyone."

Faridah's heart almost broke at that quiet statement. Dammit, they were supposed to be having a good time. She stood up and held out her hand. "C'mon SpyBoy, dance with me"

He took her hand and moved to get up, getting about halfway before the dizziness kicked in and he dropped back onto the sofa.

"I think I'm a little drunker than I think." He looked a bit confused by, well, by everything. "I've only had three drinksh, how am I such a lightbul.. lightweight?"

Frank had returned, more drinks in hand. "Really Jensen, do I need to draw you a diagram? Despite the fact that you take your cereal with whisky instead of milk these days, extended use of your Sentinel has negated any tolerance you may have had for alcohol. Couple that with the fact that your blood volume must be about half of what it used to be, and boom" He shot finger guns at Jensen. "Lightweight."

 

***

"Can't we just drop him at the office? There's a perfectly fine couch in the lab…"

Malik shifted Adam's arm back up onto her shoulder. "No. Don't be a dick Frank, we need to get him home. C'mon SpyBoy, move your feet"

Adam had one arm around Pritchard's shoulder, the other around Malik's. Which would have been a lot more effective if they were closer in height - as it was they kept veering toward Malik's side and Frank was getting entirely fed up of the whole thing.

"What did you do with your evening Frank? Oh not much, just carried a drunk cyborg through the streets of Detroit. Oh that must have been fun? Yeah, loads…" he whined.

"Wanna go bed," Adam mumbled.

"Bed soon handsome, just try and walk in a straight line, it's not… it's not that far." She steered them back to vertical and they shuffled off in the direction of Adam's apartment.

"Wish I could override his override," Frank grumbled. "We could probably sober him up in about half an hour."

"shtay out of my head Franshish"

 

***

Never let it be said that Francis Wendell Pritchard wasn’t a monumental arse. He took pride in it, particularly where Jensen was concerned. So at 9.30am the next day, he pinged his infolink.

Pinged it five times before Jensen answered, with a groan.

"Good morning Jensen, are you enjoying your hangover?

Adam buried his face in his pillow. "I feel like a bear shat in my head…. What time is it?"

"You have a clock.."

"I see some numbers but they could be anything" He screwed his eyes shut again. "What do you want?"

"Honestly? To wake you up and piss you off."

"Get fucked Francis."


	11. Bendy

Frank Pritchard tried to stifle a yawn. He'd been burning the candle at both ends recently, well more than usual, and had been hoping for a fairly quiet day. What he had in fact received was Jensen trapped in a locked-down building by an overzealous security system. Two hours he'd been working his way through the system and only in the last 20 minutes had he made any real progress. Was the code written by a genius or an idiot? He couldn't quite decide. 

A slight rustling came over the comm-link. "Take a break Pritch, I'm not going anywhere". 

Adam was fairly unconcerned by the whole situation, and had settled into a supply cupboard til things calmed down. He knew he could sneak out if he had to, but knew Francis was enjoying the challenge, as much as he ever enjoyed anything.

"I've nearly got it, shouldn't take much *ow* much longer". Frank winced as he stretched and his neck gave a brief spasm.

Adam winced too, the popping noise coming over the comm as clear as day. 

"Y'know Francis, the human body isn't meant to make sounds like that. Maybe you should try leaving your desk once in a while, get some exercise…"

"You heard that?"

"Mmmhmmm. Does not sound healthy. "

"Oh it's fine, I've got weird joints. Now hush, I'm trying to get you out of there."

*******

Jensen did as he was told, and hushed. He wondered what 'weird joints' meant.

He wondered what to have for dinner later. 

He twiddled his thumbs.

He mentally ranked his top five cheeses.

He picked at a stray thread on his coat, silently cursing when he made it unravel further than it already had.

He tried to remember the licence plate of every car he'd ever owned.

He decided to get himself out.

*******

"Alright Jensen, that should do it. System's down, your way is clear." Frank sat back and stretched, satisfied with a job well done.

"Thanks Francis, nice work. Jensen out."

Coffee. He needed coffee. Grimacing as he prised himself out of his chair, he headed toward the cafeteria. Only to be greeted by the sight of Adam tucking into the special of the day.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" 

"I was hungry?"

"You asshole!"

"You told me to shush, so I shushed. Then I got bored of waiting and…. Well you know what my attention span is like. Sit down." Adam gestured to the chair opposite. "You seemed to be having fun so I left you to it."

Frank slid into his seat, signalled for a coffee and fixed Jensen with a glare.

"Come on Pritch, I know you. You wouldn’t have stopped til you cracked the system anyway. "

"Spose."

"Don't sulk. What did you mean by 'weird joints'?"

"What? Oh, I'm double jointed. They make weird noises all the time." Frank illustrated the fact by interlacing his fingers and bending them back much further than was normal, to a cacophony of pops.

Adam cringed. "Aargh, don't do that again, that's horrible!" He balled his own hands up tightly into fists, as if to counteract the sensation. "Doesn't that hurt?"

Frank smirked. He hadn't pegged Jensen as squeamish and this new piece of information opened up a whole world of opportunities.  
�"No. Look what I can do with my thumb…"

"Ew, stop it, that's awful." 

"Or this elbow thing…"

Adam reflexively folded his arms tightly. "Quit it, freak. You're making me feel all… eugh".

Pritchard laughed. "Alright, you big wuss. Didn't think you'd be the type to be so easily grossed out."

"It makes my knees feel like they bend the wrong way and you didn't even do… do NOT do a knee thing!" Adam unfolded his arms and rubbed his knees instead. "What on earth is wrong with you?"

"Stretchy cartilage. Makes me all… bendy. It's not really useful for anything except weirding people out. Good party trick though." He rubbed his chin. "Your sensations are interesting, did you always feel like that or is it, y'know…"

Adam nodded. "Nah, I've always had a 'thing' about stuff like that, I guess it's all mental. With these hands, I can do some weird shit of my own and I know that it doesn't hurt. But I prefer not to look at it cos… damn it looks like it should." He shuddered a bit and pointed at his untouched dessert. "Do you want that? I've lost my appetite."

"Mmm please. Then I'll show you the ankle trick, that's the best one."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It would have had more detail but it made my knees feel weird. Ew ew ew ew ew ew ew ew.


	12. Up Up Down Down

An arcade machine had appeared in the corner of the cafeteria, rumoured to have been a foolish eBay purchase by the boss himself. Not just 'retro', this thing was positively prehistoric. Adam vaguely remembered the game from his youth and it had been ready for carbon-dating even then. But curiosity and boredom mingled together and 30 minutes and as many credits later he entered his name on the leaderboard.

PRTCHRD 65982  
PRTCHRD 46872  
PRTCHRD 43982  
FLYGRRRL 32153  
PRTCHRD 32152  
CYNDI_X 29132  
PRTCHRD 27913  
PRTCHRD 27001  
FLYGRRRL 26132  
JENSENAJ 25814

Of course Frank was at the top. He could just imagine him, doggedly playing over and over again, throwing a tantrum when Faridah had beaten him by one point. 

 

***

 

It was ten days before Adam, delayed by a broken VTOL, found himself at the arcade machine again. Feeling a little more sprightly than the last time he played, he did rather better. 

PRTCHRD 65982  
PRTCHRD 61825  
PRTCHRD 58900  
PRTCHRD 52111  
PRTCHRD 46872  
PRTCHRD 43982  
PRTCHRD 40622  
PRTCHRD 40896  
JENSENAJ 39890  
FLYGRRRL 32153

A tap on the shoulder and Malik informed him the VTOL was good to go. 

"Sorry about your score Flygrrrrrrrrrrrl," Jensen fake-apologised, drawing out the 'rrrrr' in Faridah's nickname.

"That'd okay Spy Boy, someone's got to take the fight to Frank. Bet you he'll have pushed us both off the board by the time we get back."

 

***

 

If he'd been wearing an earpiece, he'd have pulled it out and stamped on it, that's how objectionable Pritchard was being. Past 'snark', past 'sarcasm', hang a right at 'bitchy' and all the way on til you get to 'utterly smug condescending ****' territory. It didn't even let up when he got back to the office. No, there was apparently some massive issue with some cabling and it was all his fault and how was the Mighty Pritchard supposed to do his job and… to be honest he'd completely tuned out at that point and headed for the bathroom in hope of escaping the tech's tirade. No such luck, the rant simply continued from outside the cubicle. With no air vent to physically escape into, Jensen settled for escaping mentally - pondering what he could do to put Francis back in his place. Pritchard eventually ran out of puff and slunk off to his office leaving Adam to vacate the cubicle and head to the cafeteria for some much-needed caffeine. As his gaze fell upon the arcade machine, quietly cycling through demo mode and the leaderboard, he knew exactly how to get revenge.

PRTCHRD 65982  
PRTCHRD 61825  
PRTCHRD 58900  
PRTCHRD 52111  
PRTCHRD 46872  
PRTCHRD 43982  
PRTCHRD 42199  
PRTCHRD 40622  
PRTCHRD 40896  
PRTCHRD 39900

 

***

 

The halls were dark, save for the low-level security lighting that clicked on as he walked by. A quick pass by the tech lab confirmed that one F W Pritchard was nowhere to be found. Slipping into the cafeteria, Adam draped his coat over a nearby chair and made his preparations.

On the small table next to the arcade machine he arranged his secret weapon - a mains-powered biocell converter borrowed from the medical team. Usually it was for plugging in limbs that weren't fitted to the recipient yet, but Dr Deakin - who had recently been the recipient of one of Pritchard's tirades - had set it up so Adam could basically hook himself onto unlimited power. And unlimited power meant he could keep his reflex booster on for as long as he needed to. He chuckled quietly to himself as the world seemed to slow down around him. It's only cheating if you get caught.

 

***

 

Pritchard leant against the coffee machine and pressed the Espresso button repeatedly until his mug was full. As he raised the beverage to his lips, his eyes fell upon the machine, proudly displaying the leaderboard.

FRANKSUX 104853  
PRTCHRD 65982  
PRTCHRD 61825  
PRTCHRD 58900  
PRTCHRD 52111  
PRTCHRD 46872  
PRTCHRD 43982  
PRTCHRD 42199  
PRTCHRD 40622  
PRTCHRD 40896

 

The machine was removed later that day. Cyber security hazard, apparently. Hacked, apparently. Impressive, given it's age and complete lack of internet connectivity...


End file.
